


Welcome to My Past, Mr. Drake

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from the episode "Thy Kingdom Come."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to My Past, Mr. Drake

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #10 under the pen name Angelica Cooper-Smith.

_"This is kind 'a weird, Colonel."_

 

Ironhorse watched Suzanne stumble off with Blackwood, muttering under her breath about mutant sleeping patterns and perverse astrophysicists.  He almost grinned.  Dr. McCullough was obviously exhausted from the drive.

          Harrison better be careful, the colonel thought, or she'll end up dissecting him before they even get to the airport in Great Falls.  He shook his head and turned back to Norton.

          "Where to, Colonel?" Drake asked, watching Suzanne refuse the proffered keys, climb into the backseat of the Bronco and lay down, leaving Blackwood to drive.

          "Food and Coffee," Ironhorse stated succinctly, glancing around Wolfjaw.  The tiny town seemed to be doing well, surviving on the tourist trade.

          "Smart man," Drake replied.  "Just tell me where to go."

          Ironhorse walked around the Green Machine, climbed into the passenger seat, then clicked the seatbelt into place.  "Go out to the main road and head south.  We'll go down to Logan Pass and eat, then see if there's still a road running out to the Reservation along the Milk River."

          "Wolfjaw's not the big city, huh?" Norton asked, swinging out and heading south.

          "Not at all, Mr. Drake.  Nothing out here is big city.  You'd have to go to Great Falls or Missoula for that."

          "Oh boy," Norton said with a chuckle.  "The real backwoods.  Harrison said this was Indian country," he commented, trying to spark conversation.

          "Yes."

          "What tribe?  I noticed the Flathead Reservation sign when Suzanne and I were coming up."

          "Blackfoot," was the taciturn reply.

          Norton glanced at the colonel, noting the man's closed expression and decided to let the questions drop.  He'd try again after they both had some coffee.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Sitting in the small – and only – café in Logan Pass, well-fed and working on his third cup of coffee, Norton flirted with the waitress.  The young Indian woman filled their cups and returned to her side-work, giving Norton a last smile over her shoulder.

          "It's beautiful up here," Norton said.  "Don't think I've been up this way before.  I made it to Coeur d'Alene once, though."

Ironhorse nodded, concentrating on his coffee.

          "Something wrong, Colonel?"

          Paul looked up, catching the hacker's curious look.  "I was just thinking, sorry."

          The young woman passed by, smiling shyly at Drake.

          "You seem to be enjoying yourself," the colonel mused.  "Why don't you stay here.  I'll go out to the reservation, ask a few questions, then come pick you up."

          "Why?" Drake asked.  "I don't mind the ride."

          Ironhorse shrugged.  "I just thought you'd rather stay here… given the scenery."

          "If you'd rather I didn't—"

          "I didn't say that."

          Norton raised his hands to smooth the waters.  "I know, but I'm getting some mixed signals here.  If you don't want me tagging along, I'll wait here, but otherwise I'd just as soon tag along."

          Ironhorse shook his head.  "Then, Mr. Drake, let's go get this over with."

          "Fine with me."  He glanced over at the young woman, who smiled.  "But maybe we could stop by here for lunch on the way out?"

          Ironhorse grinned.  "Sorry, but we can stop in Browning if you're hungry."

          Drake shook his head.  Sometimes the man was simply clueless.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Norton scanned the landscape, noting the scattering of houses as they passed a sign announcing:  "Entering Blackfoot Indian Reservation."

          "How big is this reservation?" Norton asked.

          "Over seven thousand acres."

          Drake whistled.  "That's a hefty piece of real estate."

          "It's the tenth largest reservation in the United States," Ironhorse commented absently.

          Drake's eyebrows rose.  There was more going on in the colonel's mind than he was mumbling about.  "Do most of the tribal members stay?"

          The colonel shrugged.  "About the same as on any other reservation or trust lands."

          "Trust lands?"

          "It's complicated," Ironhorse explained with a shake of his head.

          Norton pulled the van off the main road, following the colonel's directions to a small community complete with convenience store, school, post office, police, bank and a few other stores.

          "This isn't what I expected," he said.

          "Tipis, Mr. Drake?"

          Norton grinned, but shook his head.  "Not exactly.  I think it's the school in the middle of town that caught my attention."

The colonel grinned.  "The Blackfeet have the highest number of adult members with high school diplomas or higher."

          "That include other West Point graduates, Colonel?"

          "I'm Cherokee, Mr. Drake."

          Damn, Norton thought, I almost had him…  He pulled into an open space in front of a small building with the "Sheriff's Office" sign.

          "But my grandfather was from this reservation."

          "Ahh, the mystery lightens."  Norton pressed the lock to release Gertrude and rolled back to the van's lift.  "Meet ya outside, big guy," he told the soldier, then pressed the button to lower the ramp.

          Rolling out onto the sidewalk, he gave the place a once over.  "Looks like a nice little community."

          "It helps that the per capita income is higher here than on a lot of other reservations."

          Norton grinned.  "You sound like a tour guide, Colonel.  Spend some time up here?"

          Ironhorse pulled up short on his way to the office.  "I'm sorry," he said sharply.

          "Don't apologize," Norton countered.  "I'm enjoying it.  It's… educational."

          The black eyebrows rose.  "Don't misunderstand," he told Norton, "half the people living here are living in poverty, but at least most of the houses have plumbing now.  And, yes, I did spend some time up here as a kid.  But don't tell Blackwood."

          "Wouldn't think of it," Norton said, following the colonel into the sheriff's office.

          An older man with steel-grey hair looked up from a small desk.  He was trim and obviously Native.  He stood to greet them.

          "Sheriff," Ironhorse said, stepping forward.  "I'm Paul Ironhorse."  He removed his identification from his pocket and handed it over.

          "What does the Army want out here, Colonel?"

          Ironhorse took the ID and slipped it back into his pocket.  "We're looking for evidence that… terrorists might have been through the area."

          The older man shrugged.  "We haven't had anything unusual happen for several weeks."

          "Any interference with your radios or televisions?" Norton asked.

          "Computer and communications consultant," Ironhorse explained when the Sheriff gave Drake a questioning glance.

          He shook his head.  "Just the usual lousy reception."

          "I'd like to wander around town, talk to people," the colonel explained.  "Maybe someone noticed something that might help us."

          "Fine by me."

          Ironhorse nodded, then extended his hand again.  "Thank you, Sheriff."

          After a parting handshake, they left, Norton rolling ahead toward the van.  "That's it?" he asked.

"No, we'll go over to the Heritage Center and see who's there.  Maybe we can get a lead, but I doubt it.  I think they just passed through."

          Drake nodded his agreement.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The old man outside the small Heritage Center looked older than the weathered logs that made up the building.  Leaning back against the rough logs, he smoked a pipe, watching the smoke rise from the bowl and disappear into the cool air.  He nodded at the pair as they approached.

          "You lookin' for the _iniks **[1]**?_ " he asked in a raspy voice.

          Ironhorse pulled up short and Norton nearly ran Gertrude into the back of his knees.

          The colonel nodded once.

          "I saw them in a dream.  They were wearin' people like an _ikinau **[2]**_.  Scared the shit out of me.  There aren't here.  Gone north to haunt the Bloods."

          "Do you know what they want?"

          "They're lookin' for other _otsistauosina **[3]**_.  Gonna find 'em, too."  Reaching into the pocket of his flannel shirt, the old man tugged out a small leather pouch.  Opening it with his wrinkled fingers, he removed a pinch of the tobacco inside, then drew the pouch closed and shoved it back into his pocket.  "You gonna be

lookin' for the _staaiks **[4]**_ for a long time."

          Reaching back and digging into his jean pocket, the old man drew out a faded red and white handkerchief.  He rubbed his fingers dusting the tobacco on the cloth, then folded it over so the breeze wouldn't carry it away.  Bending over, he ran his hand over the ground until he found a pebble and added that to the tobacco.  Four pine needles from the small tree growing alongside the bench where he sat and a dribble of spit followed.  That done, he folded the ends over and tied them, then handed the small bundle to Paul.

          "For the _sauumitsitapisists **[5]**_."

          "Thank you, Uncle," Ironhorse said sincerely.  "In your dream, will we defeat the _staaiks_?"

          "It is just a dream.  May your journey be good.  May your journey be swift, and may there be peace and goodness in the next world."

Ironhorse nodded, "Thank you for your prayer, Uncle."  Reaching into his pocket, Ironhorse removed his keys and pulled them off the keychain that held them, then handed the ornament over to the old man.  It looked like an animal tooth to Norton, but he wasn't sure what kind.

          The old man smiled, his tobacco-stained teeth nearly as brown as his face.  " _Apisi_."

          Ironhorse nodded.  "Dream of victory, Uncle," he told the old man, then continued into the building.

          "What was that?" Norton asked.  "That you gave the old man."

          "A wolf's tooth."

          "Wolf's tooth?"  Norton's eyes widened slightly.  He had some work to do, and then there was the Cherokee clue, too…   "What did he give you?"

          Ironhorse shrugged.  "I'm not sure, exactly.  A good luck charm, I think."

          "Then you understood what he said?"

          "I think so; some of it.  I haven't heard Blackfoot in a long time."

          Norton smiled and shook his head.  "You're pretty amazing, Colonel.  Harrison's gonna hate that he missed this."

          "I'd appreciate it if you kept this between us."

          There was a conspiratorial smile.  "Need to know?"

          "Something like that," Ironhorse said, then grinned, looking around the small room.  The walls were lined with pictures and artifacts.  "Welcome to my past, Mr. Drake."

          "Why do I have this feeling I'm just starting my education?"

          Ironhorse gave him an innocent look.  "What do you mean?"

          "Never mind.  What do we do now?"

          "See if anyone's here and wait."

          "Wait?"

          "If there's someone who has something to tell us, they'll come.  The old man will see to that."

          Norton shook his head.  "This is kind 'a weird, Colonel."

          "Life's kind of weird, Mr. Drake, or hadn't you noticed?"

          Norton rolled over to one of the display cases that held a stuffed grey wolf.  The animal's artificial yellow eyes stared at him.  "So, Colonel, while we're waiting, have any stories for me?"

  


* * *

[1]  Dead people.

[2]  A dead man's house.

[3]  Ghosts (collective).

[4]  Ghosts.

[5]  Evil-doings.


End file.
